


Statement of Martin Blackwood

by Clockwork



Series: Statements [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bad coping mechanisms, M/M, Spoilers, Suicidal Ideation, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, pairing week 2018, piles of nonsense, up to date canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork
Summary: Martin gives his statement of how Mike Crew helped him to cope with things after Jane Prentiss.Spoilers up through the recent eps. Definitely humanized side of Mike because awwww monsters have maybe souls too?





	Statement of Martin Blackwood

“Statement of Martin Blackwood regarding, apparently, several encounters with Michael Crew. Recorded direct from subject… Martin, are you sure you want to do this?”

The longer Jon did this, especially with returning as much as what he was doing could be called returned, the harder it became to take the statements. Not record the older ones, the ones that fed the being that made the Institute its home, but these. Ones giving in person, where he could see the pain, where he knew that their statements had not been given entirely of their own volition but were offered because Jonathan encouraged them, forced it from them even if force or demanding were never part of his behavior. Not often, at least.

This one though, from what little Martin had told him before Martin insisted he turn on the recorder, this one was already proving to be harder than most. Perhaps it was that look on Martin’s face. Wide eyed, helpless and hapless as Jonathan did the introduction that was standard for their recordings. 

It was less the sort of pain or trepidation that might have come from one that was not like Jude and Mary and others that had sat in that same spot all arrogance and strength and determination. Martin didn’t even bare the look of another who might have just wandered in off the street, looking for answers and help. Neither of which the Institute was likely to give. No what Martin was looking for was a confessor, someone to not only hear his sin but forgive him of them. He was looking to Jon for that, and he wasn’t sure it was something he could give. But hurting Martin by not giving it might hurt even worse.

“I’m sure. I… I think it’s needed. I know…” He paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and Jonathan did not rush him. “I know what you said Daisy did to him, and I know he probably has killed a lot of people, and I read the accounts from the Walkers, okay? I know that who we are dealing with is not a good person. I just… I also know that if I hadn’t met him, after the worms? I don’t know what kind of extreme means I might have used to escape the Institute once I realized I kept coming back.”

Those words, at the end, they came out in a rush and Jonathan didn’t need Martin to say them in more detail than that.. Hell, he was glad Martin hadn’t. Hearing them would make Jon face he’s had similar thoughts, ones he had only squelched with one thought. If he was dead, they would likely put Martin in the position, and that was worse than facing being the Archivist, and all that it meant. Even if he wasn’t yet sure what it all meant.

“Fair enough then, Martin, and I will do my best to keep my thoughts and opinions to myself. At least until you’re done with your statement.”

That got the faintest of smiles from Martin. “Thank you. I appreciate that, though I won’t hold it against you if you don’t. Not that I won’t be able to read it on your face.”

Jon nearly echoed that barely there smile. “Fair enough then. Shall we?” Not waiting for more than a nod from Martin. “Statement begins.”

“Right, so… after the worms invaded, Elias insisted that I try and return to living in my own place. Which wasn’t easy. When my the wheeze of my own breath in my head started to make me think the loft was infested, I would go out. I know it wasn’t the best of ideas. After working here, I definitely know it was a bad idea, but being out among others was easier than being alone with myself and the memories.

“Usually I walked until I felt worn, find the nearest pub, have a pint and then head for home. I did this twice before I found myself no longer alone at my table. I wasn’t even sure when he sat down. One minute I’m watching a pair play darts, because the focus was better than my own thoughts, and the next I turn my head and there’s someone sitting there with a dark coat on and a single malt on the table before him, another pushed towards me. I thanked him with no thanks and pushed it back towards him a bit. His fingers, gloved, came to rest on the other side of the glass, stopping me from pushing it back. That’s when he said my name.

“He said my name, Jon, and I was suddenly freaking out. I was thinking about Jane, and who else she might have infected, and why else would this man know my name if they hadn’t sent him for me…”

Even as he spoke, his words became as rushed and panicked as Jon was certain they had that night. Martin was getting better, but then he spooked easily and he scared hard. It wasn’t a jump and a scream, but a panic attack that drove him over the edge and left him with an anxious kicked dog look for days. Jonathan knew the exact day of the first encounter, because he remembered the wild eyed look in Martin’s eyes the next day.

Like everyone else, he had written it off as basically PTSD. It wasn’t as if they were all likely to live with it the rest of their lives, no matter how long or short that might be.

“And that’s when I noticed the marks. The lightning branch of scars that showed when he moved his arm, stark against the dark material of his coat where the collar didn’t then cover his neck. I asked him to leave, to just leave me alone. He laughed. Of course he laughed. That’s what they do, right? They laugh when we say things that make sense. So he laughs and tells me that he can help me forget about it, and he can show me what it would be like if I chose to leave the Institute. And… okay, I was a fool. I know that. I just wanted to be able to sleep. I wanted to live my life again. I wanted it to stop.”

It was almost a physical pain not to ask Martin to get to it, to tell him what it was that Mike Crew had shown him. Even as Martin went on, there was a creeping sensation along Jon’s chest, odd and feeling as if those same branching scars were tracing along his lungs, constricting and tightening as they grew. Even if only within his mind. God, he hoped they were only in his mind. 

“So he said to meet him there the next night, and he downed both of the glasses of scotch and he was gone. I mean, I know he had to have gotten up and left, but I don’t remember him actually leaving. Just trying to catch my breath and downing the rest of the pint and going.

“I swore to myself Jon that I wasn’t going to go. I swore! But…”

“But it’s like the Institute?” Jon couldn’t help himself. He knew that sensation. They all did.

Martin nodded, pitiful and hurting and pained. “Just like here. I couldn’t stay away. He was waiting at the table when I came in. Just sitting there with a scotch on the table before him and not even a drink for me. Like, I don’t know. Like he learned from the night before? I know that sounds stupid but..”

Jonathan nodded. “It’s part of the games he plays… Played. Go on.”

He hadn’t meant to say that, to voice things in that command that was controlling Martin. Yet, deep down, he was glad he had said it. He needed to hear this. He was desperate to hear what Mike had done to Martin.

“Right. So he was sitting there, waiting for me, and smiling. Like, like I don’t know. Like he was waiting for his date.”

Jon couldn’t help but wonder if that isn’t where this was going. Maybe it was the way Martin wouldn't make eye contact with him. Or maybe it was because of the hint of a flush to his assistant’s cheeks. Yet he didn’t rush him to hurry on again, letting Martin take it at his own speed. No matter how hard that was.

“I didn’t get a pint or anything. I wanted to so sober. And don’t think I was entirely stupid. I had told someone I was going, and I was prepared not to leave with him. And we didn’t either. He asked me if I wanted to forget it all. Not forever but to just have a moment to have nothing. No worms. No Jane Prentiss. No Institute.

“I said yes.”

Of course he had. With all he had been through, of course he had. Jonathan wanted to fault him for it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not even in his head, definitely not saying the words directly. Not now when he could only imagine what was coming.

“The next thing I knew I was falling. There was nothing but light. No air. No land. Nothing to be seen but pure blinding whiteness. The world seemed to go on forever. Which was when I realized… It wasn’t the world, and it was forever. This was it, Jon. This was the end. This was what I would have forever if I left the Institute for good.”

He was staring down at the desk and Jon was happy for that. No, happy was the wrong word. He was glad that Martin couldn’t see the look on his face. These memories somehow seemed to make Martin content, his expression much softer than it had been as he recounted falling. 

For Jon those memories left him breathless, remembering the pain of slowly suffocating, wondering what would kill him first. Hitting whatever was to come, or finally blacking out as he died from lack of oxygen. Not even conscious of his hand at his chest, clutching at his shirt as if he could claw his chest open and give his lungs air that way.

“And I realized then, Jon,” he went on, raising his head with such a hopeful, comforted look. “I was okay with that. I was okay with this being how I died.” The smile faded to a frown. “Jon?”

Clearing his throat, he waved his hand at Martin, looking away. “No. No. Go on,” he said, intentionally using the command this time so that Martin would not ask him to talk about what he was thinking, feeling. 

“So… I accepted it. I accepted that I would die in that moment, and it was okay. I would leave the Institute, and there would be no more worms, and nothing could hurt me and I was okay with that.”

Jonathan fought not to shudder, not even capable of imagining just giving in to that void Mike had trapped him in.

“And then it was gone, and I was crying and… and he was holding me. The coat was heavy and it scratched at my skin, but his arms were tight around me and… and he was muttering under his breath. It took a while before I could figure out what he was saying, after I could finally stop myself from crying. Just laying there in his arms, not caring who in the pub was watching us, listening to the soft roughness of his voice that sounded nearly as thick as my own.”

“What was he saying, Martin?’

“The same thing over and over again. You accepted.”

Silence reigned for a moment, the only sound in the room the soft whirr and scritch of the recorder going on and on. At length it was Jonathan that broke the silence.

“And you just… went home?”

Martin nodded, not looking directly at Jonathan, though perhaps it was less about hiding his own expression and more about not wanting to see the look on Jon’s face again.

“I did. Later. After a while he went and got us both a drink, and then he asked me what I was thinking, why I did it. Again going on about me accepting. I told him it didn’t scare me. He’d given me just what he promised me. A place with no worms and no Elias and no worrying you’re dead. Just light and peace. He smiled then and said if I wanted to do it again, we could.”

The way he said we, joining then, it was almost like Jon imagined that Martin might speak of a significant other. It left Jon’s stomach uneasy and his skin clammy.

“Did you see him again, Martin?”

“I did. Twice more. The next time we met in the bar. It was the same. Lost in that brilliant white nothingness, and I just felt whole and comforted and I came to in his arms just at the moment I thought I would crash into the Earth. I lay there until the sun was coming up. He kissed my brow then and told me he would see me the next night. I couldn’t even imagine not returning.”

He knew he should let Martin tell the story on his own but patience was not Jonathan’s strong suit when it came to his assistants. 

“And the third night?”

“We went back to my place. I thought it would be more comfortable.”

“Dear God, Martin. You didn’t…”

The look on his face was a mixture of disgust and confusion as Martin stared at Jonathan as if he had lost his mind. Neither of them could truly be certain he hadn’t. 

“No! And… even if we had, what would be wrong with that? But no. I hadn’t even thought of it. There was something in how Mike had held me the first two nights that felt… I’ve never had sex that left me feeling like that.”

Which didn’t surprise Jonathan if he was honest, but he felt for Martin at the same time.

“He took me to that place again, and he held me after. This time I didn’t cry. I told him about how cold my skin felt, and how once I had accepted it, it wasn’t like I needed the air my lungs missed. I was nearly asleep when he said I wouldn’t see him again. I asked him not to go, that we could make plans for another time and place. That… that was when he told me the truth. That’s why I needed to tell you this, Jon, to get in on tape.”

Jonathan sat up straighter, frowning heavily at the other man’s change of tone. “What happened then, Martin?”

“He told me that he had come to me that night to kill me. He’d been told to kill one of the Archivist’s assistants, and he’d chosen me. Except that I was the first person who ever accepted it when he took them to that place, and he couldn’t kill me then.”

Jonathan’s face was an odd shade of red then, spluttering as he tried to find words. “They… he was going to… They sent him for you?” Anger tinged his tones, hands gripping at the edge of the table, white knuckled and arms shaking from the force. 

“I know. I know, Jon. Say it. You told me so. I should have been more careful. But that’s how I kind of found my way back. I’d died. Well no. I had accepted death, and in accepting death, I was alive. It was why I was okay, able to get back to what I was supposed to be doing. In dying, I was alive again and I wasn’t afraid. Well, not as afraid.”

Jonathan had no words. Not for Martin creditting Mike Crew for his healing. Not for Martin finding some kind of closeness and affection with that... man. Definitely not with the realization that in his own panic and paranoia, he had left his assistants to death in more ways than one, and he still needed to find a way to free them before they were gone like assistants past.

At length Jon straightened, reaching for the recorder.

“Statement ends.”


End file.
